Fever
Sickness and Health: Consecutive Substack Story 1118
Other than the scorpion-sting-on-the-balls fear of losing Brooke, the worst part was peeling the sweat-soaked sheets from her body, as though her skin would come off with the cotton coverings..
They were down to some Snoopy sheets Kurt found in a box in the basement when Kurt finally decided it was time to call an ambulance.
He had given it 72 hours, 74 actually, because he had slept longer than he wanted, waking to Brooke’s delirious babble.
Her words were unintelligible, but there was a rhythm to them. They seemed like questions and responses in a language only she knew.
Her distrust and dislike of the medical establishment had kept Kurt’s hand away from his phone, except to text his sister to tell her he was freaking out.
As the first strains of the ambulance’s music reached his ears he felt like Brooke would forgive him.
It was an extreme case.
An empty bottle of Pedialyte twisted Kurt’s ankle as he went to open the door.
He shook it off, flung the door open for the EMT’s, put weight back on the ankle and suppressed a pained yelp.
Maybe they could give her fluids here and she wouldn’t have to…
The gurney with his love flew past him before he could finish the thought.
“Benton?” he asked, meaning the hospital.
“Yessir,” the young EMT answered and Brooke’s delirium seemed to expand on the idea of going to Benton Memorial, or maybe contradict it.
“Furrdenwahlorlorbee,” she seemed to say.
It didn’t make sense.None of it had made sense since the fever had climbed.
She would forgive him for subjecting her to the hospital.
But she was going to be mad first.
Kurt drove slower than he wanted because he could feel his ankle ballooning.He might wind up on a gurney in the ER himself.
Outside the ER walk-in entrance, the young EMT was half hiding behind a brick pillar, vaping.
“How was she doing?” Kurt said, more out of nervous energy than an expectation of a detailed response.
“She’s stabilizing,” the EMT said. “They’re good people in there. Good luck.”
Kurt nodded, mumbled a thank you and limped in.
The EMT’s eyes followed him.
“She’s a jazz radio station, bro. 106.9. The fuck were you waiting to call us for? A fucking earthquake?” the EMT thought.
The Triage desk would not allow Kurt back in the holding area to see his wife.
“High fever/contagion precaution,” the nurse said. She took his name and pointed at a small lounge with powder blue upholstered chairs. “Have a seat and someone will let you know anything as soon as they have any shareable information.”
Kurt limped to the nearest chair and flopped.
A glowing vending machine in the corner of the room held chips and cookies.
A single red bag of DonRiver Flaming Hot Pork Wrinkles was on a bottom row.
Kurt thought about buying them, but the ankle hurt too much to stand again. One elderly woman was watching a cooking show on a small TV perched in the opposite corner from the vending machine.
Kurt decided he could elevate his foot. Scooching another chair toward him with his left foot, he finally got the second chair close enough to lift his right foot onto it.
Kurt woke to his own name.
He couldn’t believe he had fallen asleep so easily after oversleeping at home.
Fuck. Contagion. Maybe I’m getting what Brooke has.
The doctor said his name again.
Kurt realized he hadn’t acknowledged her.
He stood, saying “That’s me,” as pain shot up and down his ankle and he bit his cheek.
“Brooklyn is stable and alert. She’s displeased with her IVs, which are some fluids and antibiotics. You cohabitate?”
“We’re fucking marrie–sorry, we’re married. Yes. Um…same address.”
“We haven’t identified the exact virus yet, tests are pending, but if you have been in the same room, touching her in any manner in the last 48 hours you’ve been-”
“Like over 74, 75,” Kurt said.
“You’ve been exposed to whatever caused the high fever. Please wear a mask, regardless…” The doctor pointed at a dispenser near the vending machine.
The single bag of DonRiver Flaming Hot Pork Wrinkles was gone.
How long was I sleeping?
“...and follow me.”
Trying to take one mask from the dispenser, Kurt grabbed three, dropped one, and clumsily strapped one on his face, limping and cheek biting.
Brooke was sitting up in bed, looking better, though she had been in such rough shape that didn’t seem to be a difficult first step.
Kurt expected her to be angry.
“Hi,” he said. “You were really sick. I had to-”
“I wanna go back.”
“I know you wanna go home but-”
“No Kurt, not home. Back where I was.”
Her words were slow, but determined and forceful.
“Umm, we were home, Brooke. I guess you’re still…”
“Still what?”
“You were delirious, Rookie,” Kurt said, calling her by a nickname that always got a guarded smile from her.”
Brooke didn’t say anything, but her brown eyes were almost smoking with a look that said she was about to, and it was going to be important.
Kurt lifted his right foot off the floor, trying unsuccessfully to alleviate some pain.
“I wasn’t… delirious, Gurk.”
Kurt loved that nickname, though he hated it at first.
He smiled while shaking his head no.
“You were babbling nonsense. But don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re–”
“In a for-profit hospital? I know you’re not glad…” Brooke closed her eyes.
“...of that. I want to go back.”
“Where do you think you were?” Kurt asked, thinking that Brooke was still feeling the effects of the illness.
Brooke opened then closed her eyes.
“I have no idea. But it was better. Better than everything and I want to go back.”
“Get some rest, Rookie. I’m gonna sit in this chair. I messed my ankle up when the ambulance came-”
“Let’s go back together, Kurt.”
“I’m probably gonna catch whatever you had and get that fever. Maybe I’ll see where you were…”
Brooke shook her head, slowly.
Her face and her eyes looked like Kurt had just answered a math problem wrong.
“You don’t see there. You just feel. And you sing. But you’re a color. And…I can’t put anything else into words.”
“You were…you are…really sick Brooke. It sounds…fun. But get some rest and maybe…”
“It was beyond fun. There are no words beyond that. And I want to go back.”
Brooke reached over as if she was going to scratch an itch and ripped the IV from her arm.
Kurt jumped up, his right foot catching most of his weight. Pain echoed and expanded up his ankle.
Nurses scurried into the room before Kurt realized the machine was beeping.
Calmly one of them said “You can’t do that. You need fluids. If you do it again we’ll have to strap you down.”
“I don’t consent to treatment. Get me out of here. Kurt, we’re leaving. We’re going home and I’m going back and–”
Kurt sat back in the chair. The pain in his ankle was unbearable.
He heard the sizzling sound of velcro. They were strapping Brooke down.
Kurt realized he was sweating. He wanted to object but he couldn’t speak.
His ankle throbbed and his whole body felt hot.
The sound of the velcro and the beeping of the machines and the voices of the nurses all swirled into music.
Kurt shifted his weight and opened his eyes.
He couldn’t see anything, but the music was beautiful and he felt like a color. A color he couldn’t describe.
His ankle didn’t hurt anymore.
He had to tell Brooke about the music, and that now he was the color Duhrweidleelow.
***
I'm under the impression that both people had near death experiences and your link and comments on your own Facebook page only further this impression. I know from being Facebook friends with you that you have lost a lot of close friends recently and even if you don't want to say so directly the subconscious mind screams out what we are really thinking. In any event another great one! I just hope that my good friend Aaron Sizemore and my two wives and all the pets we had are in the place you describe. I have many friends who have gone there. None came back to tell me anything about it. Your description makes it sound pretty cool!
Sizzling sound of Velcro. Nice